A panther prowls
In the moonlit night
Scavenging for cowards
In the jungle of fright
It could be the words
Filled with anger and hate
That power his eyes
With the hunt of fate
He studies carefully
Waiting to pounce
Only the right time
Will he decide to count
One, two, three
He whispers alone
Counting the breaks
In the heart of his own
His prey tonight,
Is not what it seems
For he just wants
Someone to see
His bright beauty
That lingers inside
The killing machine
That he longs to hide.
YOU ARE READING
The Ashes of My Eyes
PoetryShort collection of nineteen original poems of pain, thoughts, and life lemons. This was my very first collection that I hold dear to my heart, written during some of the most depressing years of my life. These were created when I was fifteen and I...
